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I make a note for Sergei to look into it.

It may be nothing.

But if someone has been interfering with her career, I want to know.

I finish the report and turn off the monitor.

As I leave the office, I catch myself wondering whether she has managed to sleep.

I take out my phone and message Kirill to check with the hospital in the morning.

Then I put it away and head upstairs.

That, at least, is a reasonable thing to do.

6

ELARA

I sleep for nine hours.

Nine.

I know because the nurse tells me when I wake up, and for a moment I consider asking her to check the records again.

I haven't slept that long in weeks. Lately, my nights have consisted of four or five hours on a couch, waking whenever my friend gets up for work, and lying there wondering whether I should apply for another job or accept that the universe has decided I am best suited to transporting other people's dinner.

Apparently, the solution is to get hit by a car.

I would not recommend it as a long-term wellness strategy.

The room is quiet when I open my eyes. Morning sunlight comes through the blinds, falling across the foot of the bed and the expensive-looking armchair beside the window. My hip aches beneath the blanket, my shoulder feels stiff, and there is a dull pressure behind my eyes, but for the first time in what feels like forever, I don't wake up already exhausted.

I lie there for a moment, enjoying the novelty.

Then I remember Evan.

The thought arrives the way it always does, without permission.

He’s been messaging again for the past few weeks, alternating between apologies, accusations, and long paragraphs explaining why everything that happened between us was actually my fault. I stopped replying, but that has never discouraged him. If anything, silence seems to offend him more than an argument.

My phone is broken.

I stare at the ceiling.

Well… There is one benefit to yesterday's vehicular assault.

At least Evan cannot spend the morning flooding my screen with messages demanding to know where I am, who I am with, and why I haven't answered him.

He may have found another way to contact me by now, but I refuse to let that thought ruin nine consecutive hours of sleep.

I turn my head toward the window.

And find Anya sitting in the armchair.

I blink.

She is wearing a pale pink dress today, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, and she has a book open across her knees. Her feet barely reach the edge of the seat.